


If You See Her, Say Hello

by PepperF



Series: Diego whump [19]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief, Whumptober 2020, also probs my most personal, this is an angsty one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: He doesn't know why, but along with their own missing selves, there's no Grace at the Sparrow Academy. The others notice her absence, and they're sad, of course—but Diego...He can't stop feeling like it's his fault.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Grace Hargreeves
Series: Diego whump [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951318
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	If You See Her, Say Hello

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Bethany for the beta-read!

He doesn't know why, but along with their own missing selves, there's no Grace at the Sparrow Academy. The others notice her absence, and they're sad, of course—but Diego...

He can't stop feeling like it's his fault.

After all, he was the only one to interact with her, wasn't he? The human version of her, back in the sixties. So it must have been something he said that altered things. Maybe he changed her mind about "Reggie", caused her to break up their relationship, which in turn meant that Mom, his version of Grace, never came into existence. He talked her into it—because that's what he does, right?

_Maybe for once, just try things my way._

The irony is that Eudora Patch is alive and well here, in a world where he apparently doesn't exist. So that one was on him, too. He remembers going to her when his mom...after the last time...and the comfort he'd found just from being there on her doorstep. Knowing that she was close by, going through her usual morning routine—coffee, yoga, breakfast, and then a second coffee in a travel cup—and that at any moment he'd hear her familiar tread. He wonders what she'd do if he showed up like that now. Arrest him, probably.

No. No, she was still Eudora, so of course she'd help him. It's just that he couldn't bear to receive her kindness, her pity, and know that she was giving them to a total stranger.

He's angry at the others, and envious, too. How can they just dismiss Grace like that, and move on, like she was just a machine and not the person who raised them—the person who cooked and cleaned and patched them up, the person who loved them? And maybe he'll never really know if that was real, or just a really convincing program—but what if it was? What if she did love them, in her own way, and saw them as her children—and yet he's the only one who seems to care that she's gone?

_It wasn't real,_ he tells himself, as they begin to painfully piece together lives for themselves once again. _It wasn't real,_ he tells himself, mopping floors and washing dishes. _It wasn't real,_ he tells himself, passing the diner he used to visit because their pancakes were almost as good as hers. _It wasn't real,_ he tells himself, hiding from a cop who used to turn a blind eye to his vigilante shit because they were at the academy together. _It wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't real..._

"Here," says Five, shoving a printout under Diego's nose. It's the first time they've spoken in a week, because none of them are much fun to be around these days. The sixties sucked, but this hurts worse, somehow. Having to do it all again, in a world that was once theirs—it's a kicker.

"What's this?"

"Research." Diego glares at Five, who shrugs and turns away, heading for his room and his notebooks, no doubt. "Read it or don't, I don't care."

Diego waits until the door has closed behind him before unfolding the paper cautiously. You never knew what you'd get, with Five. He scans the few lines, and then reads them again when he's realizes that he's not taken in anything past the first few words. And then again, fixing them in his memory.

When he's done, he folds the paper up carefully into a small, tight square, and slips it into his back pocket. If Five wants the others to know, he can tell them—but Diego thinks this one is just for him, and he needs time to process.

\---

By way of processing, he steals a car (it's fine, it was abandoned anyway) and takes off for a few days. If the others wonder where he's gone, Five can fill them in. If he loses one of his part-time jobs, well, he won't be any great loss to the worlds of shelf-stacking or table-bussing.

He takes a drive, telling himself it's in no particular direction—but there's only so long he can lie to himself, as the city recedes in his rear view and the daylight begins to wane. When he gets tired, he parks and sleeps in the car, and keeps going again the next day. By late morning, he's in the town listed on Five's paper, and after stopping for food and directions, he finds his way through the streets to the Parkview Retirement Village.

"I'm here to see Grace," he tells the receptionist. "Grace Ha-aaa...." He scrambles to remember the other name he'd been given. "Uh, Grace Robbins?"

"Of course! Let me just check if she's receiving visitors," says the lady, brightly. "Can I take your name, please?"

"Diego. Diego Hargreeves." The new anonymity of his name is one of the few things about this timeline for which he's grateful. She picks up a phone to have a quietly murmured conversation, and then hangs up and indicates some chairs. "Please take a seat, Mr. Hargreeves, Barbara will be here in a minute to take you through."

It's a nice place. Bright and cheerful, with a quiet buzz of activity going on in the background. It's probably a decent place to live if you're old. Probably not cheap, either—so she'd done okay for herself. Barbara, when she appears, is neatly gowned in a slightly old-fashioned nurse's uniform, and she takes him down hallways that remind him of Holbrook with some reassuringly inane chatter. He tells her he's the son of an old friend, and she deposits him at Grace's door. "Just ring the bell on the wall if you need anything," she says, and leaves with a toothpaste commercial smile.

He knocks, and opens the door cautiously at the quavery, "Come in."

She's sitting in a chair that's built like a fortress, placed so she has a view of both the room and the window. She frowns at him as he enters, but more in puzzlement than disapproval, watching him closely as he walks across the room and takes the visitor's chair. But that's only fair, because he can't take his eyes off her, either.

"Do I know you?" Her voice is the same as Mom's, except for that soft accent, the 'I' coming out as a breathy 'ah'. 

"No, ma'am." At least he remembers not to call her 'mom' this time. He's a little more prepared—but it's still a kick in the teeth, how much she looks like Mom, but aged fifty-something years. This must be what it's like to have a real parent, someone who gets old, someone destructible—someone you know you'll lose one day. He wonders if that makes it easier, knowing that it's inevitable. 

Grace is still peering at him, her eyes unnervingly sharp—and then they widen. "Oh my lord, the odd young man from the Mexican Embassy! How in the world...?"

"Long story," he says. "You don't wanna know, trust me."

She leans back against her cushions, regarding him. "Reggie," she sighs.

"Yeah. Something like that."

She turns her eyes to the window, and seems to lose herself in memories. A silence falls between them, until her words cut into it again. "Thank you." 

Diego cocks his head. 

"I've been wanting to say that to you for..." she laughs, "my, fifty years or more! But thank you, young man, for giving me fair warning of what I was walking myself into." She nods decisively, as though reviewing the decisions she'd made and finding them sound. "Are you going to introduce yourself? I never did get your name, last time we met. But then you did have such peculiar manners." She smiles at him, softening her words.

"Oh, uh—my name's Diego."

"Diego. It's lovely to meet you again, Diego."

His heart clenches at the sound of his name on her lips, and he drops his gaze to his hands.

"May I ask why you're here, visitin' an old lady? Not that I wish to seem ungrateful, the Lord only knows that my grandchildren are too busy to visit often, but...is there something I need to know?"

Diego shakes his head, feeling breathless with a sudden, overwhelming surge of grief. She'd had a life, this version of Grace, with family, children and grandchildren...so he couldn't regret it. Shouldn't, anyhow. But a small, selfish part of him still wishes he'd held his tongue. Maybe, if he had, his Grace would still exist. It had never occurred to any of them that their mom was based on someone real, so they'd never looked her up. For all he knows, maybe she lived a long and happy life in his timeline, too, without his intervention. Maybe both versions of her could both have existed in parallel. Maybe, maybe, maybe... 

A hand comes to rest over his. "Is something amiss?" Grace asks softly. 

He shakes his head, staring hard at their hands. "No, no, I..."

"With your mom? I recall that I seemed to remind you of her."

He blinks rapidly, and swallows around the lump in his throat, unable to look up and meet her eyes. For some reason, there's now a teardrop on the back of her hand, and he wipes it away with his thumb. Her skin is soft and frail, like petals, the hands of a woman who has lived a full life and grown old naturally with the passage of time—not like his mom, forever artificially young, her hands always cool and smooth. Another drop. So stupid.

He can feel his shoulders sinking under the crushing weight of these last few months. It's overwhelming—too heavy to bear for another moment. It feels like he's crumbling away.

"You poor child! Come here," she says, in those soothing tones, and he finds himself falling forward into her outstretched arms.

\---

He sits in the car for a while afterwards, feeling like an idiot, but also feeling...cleansed. And exhausted—god, so fucking exhausted. He wants to sleep for a week, but if he's going to stand a chance of not losing another of his part-time jobs, he's got to start heading back soon.

After he'd managed to pull himself together, he'd stayed and talked with Grace for a while. She was kind, and whip smart. She'd talked about the career she'd had at NASA after she'd parted with "Reggie", and about her family—her husband, three kids, and seven grandchildren—and she hadn't asked too many questions about his life. He'd found himself comforted by the sound of her voice. 

When he left, she'd told him he could come back and visit any time. Maybe he would. He's not sure if he'll tell the others—although they may already know—and they might not care, but maybe he'll ask one of them to come with him next time. Vanya, maybe. She and Mom were always pretty close, and she wouldn't be difficult about it. But now he feels like he has one small tether, a connection, grounding him in this new timeline, this familiar world in which he doesn't belong. It helps, somehow, even if it's tentative and, honestly, a little weird. It still helps.

It doesn't make up for anything, she's not a replacement, but—he's glad she's okay, and he's glad he helped her. He leans back in the driver's seat for a second and thinks of his Mom. He's pretty sure she would have told him he'd done good, and that's a comfort, too.

Starting the car, he heads for home.


End file.
